


The very best one.

by hellhoundsprey



Series: crime!aus [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Housewife Castiel, Infidelity, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Castiel, Omega Sam, Police Officer Dean, Serial Killer Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: You’re a cop and you got called to a crime scene to arrest a criminal but you realize the criminal is the person you’re dating. (original prompt)





	

It bugs you, it does, it scratches and scratches—you’re bleeding out.

There is something, you can’t pin it, it’s so fragile, so passing but it’s _there_ , nagging at you...

It’s not until your knot catches that you gasp-groan out loud because you _understand_ then, see various bodiless things flash in front of your eyes and try to hold onto them, beg them to stay, but they flutter and dance, flush with your orgasm and end up draining you.

Sam has been smelling like pregnancy for two weeks now, but now that he’s told you you’re utterly unprepared. Pet his out-cold sleeping form where you are tied to him in the sheets of your not-home, rolled over to both of your sides.

Your world is burning, and you feel like nothing but a bystander.

~

“Can you pick up the groceries on your way back, please? I made you a list.”

Over Claire’s chattering you only hear ‘groceries’, make up the rest in your sleep-deprived brain and nod, turn to tell your husband, “’Course, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.” A soft hand to your shoulder before it drifts away to untangle a nest in Annie’s hair. “You’re the best,” Cas sighs, and it’s so soft, so _honest_ that if you wouldn’t hear him cry in the locked bathroom every other night, you’d almost be convinced he can’t smell your side-omega on you.

You drop your girls at the daycare, leave your eight-months heavy mate at home to rest and nest. You can’t exactly win. There’s always loss, no matter where you turn.

You light a cigarette because Dad was a smoker too, and it’s kinda nostalgic, like in the old movies, even though now you know that reality is less glamorous, more bloody. You wear more suits nowadays in the heights detectives juggle their alcoholism in. You hate wearing suits. So. Much. (Sam says it’s like lingerie on you.)

The phone in your office is ringing but you stare at your desk.

You remember last night. The crime scene and the whiff of air that hit you unprepared, that didn’t make sense, that didn’t _fit_ —that belonged to another part of your life, but not here.

They’re mingled now, though, irrevocably.

You let that drown you for a while. Minutes.

The ringing eventually stops and you still don’t see the bottom of this hole.

The new development that came in the form of yesterday’s body is summed up in front of the department by Fitzgerald, shadows under his eyes down to his knees like everyone has ’em now. Your gaze follows the laser pointer, red little dot grazing the cluttered wall of photos and handwritten notes, dates, names; circled and cubed and crossed and underlined. It’s a mess; it’s eating up the city. It’s a disaster.

You allow your eyes to drift shut for a while, your face to bury itself in your hands, try to rub all the sleep and devastation from yourself. Which doesn’t happen, of course.

You’re done. One way or the other.

You never should have let him talk to you in the first place.

~

“I’m thinking Joanne.” He’s got his palms cradling his nothing-belly as if it’s already doughing fat. God. Sam’ll get so _fat_ with your baby. “Or Mary. Something biblical. A strong woman.”

“Oh, so she’s a _woman_ now,” you chuckle, pet the backs of his hands, think of your daughters back home.

“Well, one day, right? But for now she’s a sweet little girl,” he corrects then. Looks up at you, smiles like a new bride. You haven’t even claimed him yet. “Our sweet little _girl_ , Dean.”

Sam fucks and eats and practically does everything like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. A sweet kind of desperation, always, like he’s about to lose it all.

You think how you’ve always wondered why that’s a thing with sweet tender Sam. Think how when the first victim turned up ten years ago, Sam was sixteen years old. Think how this case was the reason you wanted to be where you are now, that this—chasing down the bad guys, saving the day—that this is what you’ve always wanted, _always_.

Try not to break into tears when you realize, here in his arms, how he’s never once asked you to leave Cas.

You swallow instead, hold onto him, hope your scent won’t give you away.

“Alpha,” you hear, “I love you so much. S’gonna be fine, you’ll see. Us three—it’ll be perfect.”


End file.
